Three days ago, the
Holiday Playdate party thrown by Help a Mother Out Los Angeles happened at the Treehouse Social Club in Beverly Hills. I spent five months planning this event. First I just whined about it until people gave me suggestions or offered to help. Then I went from there. It was an emotional rollercoaster: I got the venue but no funding, then funding but lost the venue date, then when the two finally came together I realized I needed
more funding, and set out to obtain it. I stumbled my way through the process, but I had the magic ingredient: a good cause. The mission of
Help a Mother Out - to provide an easy way to get diapers to poor families - is brilliant and worthy, and all of the fine and generous people who jumped on board to help me with the Los Angeles debut party recognized that.
Finally the weekend of the party came. The supplies were en route, the food was ordered, my team of helpers was on notice. Lisa Truong, the co-founder of HAMO whom I still had not met in person, was on her way down from Oakland. I bought a new dress.
I got my hair done. I dared not expose my hair to the rain for fear that it would frizz, so I showed up at a girlfriend's Christmas party wearing a shower cap. My girlfriends promised they'd bring their children to the playdate. There were only a few odds and ends to complete before the doors opened on Sunday at 3pm.
And then I got sick.
I remarked later that day that anyone who knew me would understand that I had to be very, very sick to miss this event. A cold, a stomach ache, even a severe hangover would not have stopped me. This would be like missing your wedding, or your high school prom, or your college graduation. There was no way I would miss it.
And yet, I did.
The Sick was of the most disgusting kind. I won't describe it, but you can imagine. It set in around 2AM, and continued through the night, preventing sleep, and leaving me dehydrated, weak, and with continuous muscle cramps. By 8AM I could barely lift my head, and I knew that I would not be leaving my house that day. I was so dehydrated and sick that I could not even cry.
But I'm a producer. I used to plan parties and shoot them for a living. Without a moment's hesitation I had Stewart (who was conveniently also sick, but less so) bring me my phone and my computer and I started making calls and sending emails, albeit very very slowly, and with frequent pauses for rest in between.
Let me just take a moment to tell you that this situation was my worst nightmare come true: that Stewart and I would both get sick that we would need to call upon people for help with our children. I know I have amazing, wonderful friends here in Los Angeles, but with no family around to lean on, this scenario worries me greatly. I'd hate to ask anyone to come help us and therefore expose themselves and their children to our disease. On the other hand, if someone asked me, I'd jump to help them. On this day my willingness to ask for help was put to the test, and it brings tears to my eyes to remember how giving and responsive my friends were in rising to the occasion.
First - my new friend
Pure Natural Diva, who lives only 10 minutes away by car and has two little ones of her own. I've only met her in person three times. I called her twice while she was at church. She came to my house to pick up the door prizes, a few boxes of diapers, and other donated supplies and went down to the Treehouse to help set up. Plus she handled the guest list, gave out raffle tickets, and rolled with the punches of the day's schedule. On top of all that, she brought me a couple of vitamin B12 lollipops to help me get better.
Publicist
Jennifer Vides, who has coached me through the process of obtaining sponsors and in-kind donors, all by phone or email despite the fact that we probably live only about 20 miles from each other. Jennifer took over as the point person for everything that day. I just emailed her everything I had and said "please take care of it" and then I passed out. And she handled it.
HAMO co-founder Lisa Truong, who had not met one single solitary person involved before Sunday, took over as the host of the party in my absence. She coordinated the tallying of the diapers and met with the shelter representatives to make sure they got their share of the donations. She did an interview and answered questions about HAMO and fielded several offers of future fundraising ideas.
My friends
Lisa and Jeannette, for serving as the wagon train for my children. Lisa drove from her house to mine, picked up my kids, drove them down to Beverly Hills, stayed with them until she handed them off to Jeannette, then rushed home to prepare for her own party. Jeannette then schlepped the carseats into her own van (which my children love and want now, by the way) and drove them home. They also delivered a giant "doggie bag" of food from the party for me to eat when I got better.
People were calling me, texting me, and
tweeting at me all through the party. They said this was the best party ever and I'd better invite them to every party I throw from now on. They said the energy in the room was amazing. They said the food was fantastic, the wine was a great idea, the music was great, the glitter tattoos were enjoyed by the kids, and joint was crowded and jumping. They felt sorry for me, they missed me, they hoped I felt better. And they said the diapers were piling up.
At the end of the three hours, 3,872 diapers had been collected.
3,872.
And that, my friends, is what it's all about.
Three days later, I'm still not 100%. I've had to take 2 days off of work, and I have a lot of thank-you notes to write. I haven't even mentioned in this post the performers, the in-kind donors, or the amazingly generous sponsors. All of them will be featured in the official HAMO recap post. For now, I think I have to go back to sleep.
Thank you, everyone, for helping this mother out.
However, I will tell you that I never intended to be included in this photo. You can tell by my incredibly flat hairdo. No, what you cannot see is the amount of kinetic energy coiled in Brady's muscles as he strains against my arms, trying with all his might to flee as far from Santa as possible. This frame of a digital moment captured a very tame look on Brady's face. Trust me when I tell you that at all other moments in Santa's vicinity, Brady's face was bright red, his mouth a perfect enormous round yell. I am laughing in the picture because, well, what other pleasant option is there?
